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magic

This too shall pass. . .

Shadows of birds flying on the sidewalk; clumps of wildflowers spilling over the fence; cracking noise of a porch door swinging open—this too shall pass.

Drumming of raindrops against the cement floor; tamarind pods swinging from the tree; bent legs of dragonflies moments before they spring to the sky, their gossamer wings catching the light—this too shall pass.

A knot of hair coming undone; bluish-green veins that travel like rivers under skin; bones poking out of people’s bodies—this too shall pass.

What we love shall pass, what we hate shall pass.

We shall pass.

We radiate iridescently only for a fleeting moment on this earth.

Why not dance euphorically to the frenzy of life?

Why not make magic during our short visit?

Why not begin the magic-making in our notebooks, drawing out the beauty and the madness that we witness, mapping out the unfolding of this world by stitching words together?